Abarat

by Clive Barker

“Amazing,” said the Captain. “What are they singing? Is it just nonsense?” “No,” said Tom. He read from the Almenak. “‘The song that the Vigil Snake sings is in fact one immensely long word; the longest in the ancient language of the species. It is so long that an individual can sing it for a lifetime and never come to the end of it.’” “That sounds like a Kleppism to me,” Geneva said. “How would they ever learn it?” “Good question,” said Tom. “Maybe they’re born with it, like a migration instinct?” “Born with a song,” said Geneva. Tom smiled. “Yes. Don’t you like that idea?” “Liking it and having it be true aren’t the same thing, Tom.” “Huh. Sometimes you need to let things strike your heart and not your head, Geneva.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Geneva. “Never mind.”

“Is there such a thing as Abaratian astrology?” she said to Malingo. “Of course.” “So if I learned to read the stars, I’d maybe discover my future up there. It would solve a lot of problems.” “And spoil a lot of mysteries,” Malingo said. “Better not to know?” “Better to find out when the time’s right. Everything to its Hour.” “You’re right of course,” Candy said. Perhaps a wiser eye than hers would be able to read tomorrow in tonight’s stars, but where was the fun in that? It was better not to know. Better to be alive in the Here and the Now—in this bright, laughing moment—and let the Hours to come take care of themselves.